


Selfish

by Grimmy



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: F/M, Soft Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmy/pseuds/Grimmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes she doesn’t want the soft kisses and fluttering touches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selfish

With Gerald, it's different.

He wants to be in control just as much as she does, even more really. His fingernails are flat and square-ish and he isn’t afraid to dig them into her skin. He likes the way she wiggles and the way she gasps. He likes the way she fights for control. But they aren’t kids anymore and puberty has been good to him.   
  
And they’re both a little tipsy but neither of them are actually drunk to the point where they’re acting solely on instinct. There’s still a chance to say no. But the way his chin stubble tickles her ribcage is so unfamiliar. And the way his large hands grope her are sounfamiliar. Sometimes a girl wonders what it is like with someone else.   
  
Sometimes she doesn’t want the soft kisses and fluttering touches. She doesn’t want to be coaxed to orgasm.  _God_ , Gerald is so rough. She doesn’t actually realize she says it aloud until he pulls away from a dusky pink nipple and stares down at her looking pretty self conscious. His forehead is damp with a light layer of sweat and it’s all she can focus on as she utters, “I didn’t say stop, nuts for brains.”  
  
His snort is loud in the cramped bedroom closet and her inhale is sharp. But it’s nowhere near as loud as the sound of his pants zipper. That echoes against her eardrums. She swallows and slides her hands up his chest to rest them on his shoulder. They don’t gaze longingly in each other’s eyes. They don’t murmur soft praises or kiss each other gently. It’s too much and neither of them are there for  _that_  kind of intimacy.   
  
“Damn, Pataki.” That’s the closest she’ll get to a compliment.   
  
Her eyes close and she clenches for him eagerly even though he hasn’t even touched her yet. Not where she wants him. Not where she  _needs_  it. He’s shuffling between her thighs. Trying to get his pants down maybe? She’s not sure but every so often his stomach brushes against her. It’s not intentional but sends little sparks along her spine and she can’t help but to indulge in the mental image of his stomach slicked with her.  
  
And  _finally_ , he says, “I can’t find my emergency condom.” It sounds so  _geeky_ ; she wants to laugh. Scratch that, she  _does_  laugh. At least until she feels him lift his torso away from her. She doesn’t actually want him to leave. She really, _really_  doesn’t want him to leave.   
  
“S’okay Geraldo, mm’ on the pill.” Her grin is wicked and he doesn’t say anything about her lazy, slurred tone. He likes it though. The corners of his lips hook up in a small smile.   
  
“Whatever blondie. I’m not looking to invest in kids.” But he’s still rubbing the head of his cock against her. And he’s still getting back into it, free hand sliding up and down her side. His eyes showcase his appreciation; they never once stop roaming.   
  
She’s determined to speak past the distraction. But her hips buck involuntarily and the mutual groans seem worth the wait. “ _Christ_ , I’mma friggen’ lady. At least drop your trousers.” Not that Helga is really letting him. Not arching against him like that. Not spreading her legs as much as the narrow closet space would allow. Offering herself, _tempting him_.   
  
He’s pushing in. Slow. Thick. Hot. His hands force her hips down against the carpet. And she loves the stretch. “Yeah well…” His head drops; it hangs in the air almost right next to her own. She can feel him breathing against her shoulder. “Sometimes I can’t really tell,” he jabs. His voice is  _so friggen’… Fuck_.  
  
She scratches down his back a bit harder than necessary and he counters with a deep, hard thrust. “Oh, fuck you,” slips out before anything witty does. And they both share a late laugh at that. They’re sloppy and uncoordinated. Tipsy and rushed. Selfish where they can be.  
  
After this is all over they’ll both agree to keep it to themselves. They aren’t exactly  _with_ anyone but Helga is on a “break” and they’re not foolish enough to think Arnold would appreciate that excuse. Not that hook up. Not something so close to home and close to the heart.   
  
When this is all over, Gerald will awkwardly shrug his varsity jacket back on and Helga will collect her ruined underwear. Even then, they won’t look each other in the eyes.  _That’s not the kind of intimacy they came for_ _._  And for a long time, they’ll both feel pretty scummy.   
  
They won’t start thinking clearly until it’s over.


End file.
